


come lay bones on the alabaster stones

by mannersminded



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Nightmare, Other, PWP, tw: dub/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannersminded/pseuds/mannersminded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she wakes up in the morning there is a deep purple bruise on the joint of her jaw and dirt between her sheets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come lay bones on the alabaster stones

**Author's Note:**

> this is really really weird and messed up ok. title from don't leave nobody but the baby (emmylou harris, alison krauss, gillian welch)

Lydia arches up, moans, feels good. Feels fantastic. Feels every word for the soft sparking of the pleasure centres in her brain. A gentle hand on her, touching her, running over her body; thin fingers, with sharp nails and cool skin, skimming over her collarbone, her breasts, her hips and – _oh_ – lower. 

She opens her eyes. The lights are hazy and dim, and Allison leans over her, holding herself up with one arm on the sheets beside Lydia’s shoulder. It’s Allison’s smile, and her dimples, and her eyes, and her bare body flushed pink at her cheeks and on her chest, just over her (small, pointed, perfect) breasts. Allison’s eyes coming closer, gleaming and sharp and familiar. Allison’s lips an inch from Lydia’s nose, Allison’s palm pressing, pressing, pressing on her clit, _Allison’s fingers_ just barely brushing against her entrance.

Lydia blinks, shudders. She wants to pull back, breathe, wonder why, wonder how, but Allison is hovering so close that her skin is crackling all over and her head is swimming and she’s been _dreaming_ of this for months.

“You are so beautiful, Lydia,” Allison’s mouth murmurs, growls, and it thrums deep into Lydia’s stomach, her cunt, her knees.

Lips drag cool and dry across Lydia’s cheek, and she finds herself turning her head to catch Allison in a slow kiss. She tastes of ashes and flowers and wet silk and earth.

“I want – ” Lydia starts.

As smooth as water, Allison ducks her head to nip at Lydia’s throat – a sharp pain, a spark, a lightning bolt that shoots through her spine all the way to her toes – and Allison’s fingers slide in, slow and easy.

Lydia chokes on her own words.

Eyes knife-sharp and predatory, Allison licks a wet-hot, searing stripe from the bottom of Lydia’s breast up the side of her neck, and Lydia shudders. The feeling races over her skin in violet streaks of electricity.

“I know what you want,” Allison hums, throaty and deep, grinding the heel of her hand into Lydia’s clit every time her fingers move – deeper and deeper, sliding and feeling and stroking their way in, making stars burst behind Lydia’s eyelids. Allison leans down again and catches Lydia’s nipple in her mouth, sucks on it gently, holds it in her teeth and flicks it with her tongue like a promise of more to come.

Lydia cries out, her eyes squeezing shut and her head rolling back. Every push of Allison’s hand, every shift of her fingers, leaves her clenching her muscles in starbursts of pleasure and writhing up towards them. She reaches out blindly, grasps at Allison’s hair and pulls her mouth up into another kiss, letting Allison’s tongue scorch its way into her mouth and tangle with her own.

Their breasts rub against each other, and Lydia gasps against Allison’s (dry, dry) lips.

Allison pulls away, softly, letting their noses bump and sliding her slick-sticky palm up over Lydia’s belly. She takes Lydia’s breast in her hand, strokes and squeezes it gently. “So eager, so willing,” she whispers, and her charcoal-penny-wildflower breath clings to Lydia’s cheek. “You’d do anything for me, if I put on the right face.” Smooth and slick, she slides her hand up, up Lydia’s neck and to her mouth. Her manicure is sharp and smooth against Lydia’s cheek.  Tenderly, she brushes her thumb over Lydia’s lips, and pushes inside.

Lydia groans and wraps her tongue around it as best she can. It’s still slick and warm and salty, but she can taste leather and the lavender hand soap they bought together. Her whole body is aching to feel that hand on her breast, in her cunt, on her clit - she sucks, blindly, and rolls her hips up into the air.

Allison laughs, gritty and low. She pulls her thumb out of Lydia’s mouth and skims it down Lydia’s body, leaving a slick, cold trail. She stops at the tip of Lydia’s breast, rubbing a small circle around her pebbled nipple. “Beautiful, fragile creature,” she murmurs, voice thick with wonder, and swipes her hand down.

Lydia gasps as Allison’s fingers plunge into her, suddenly, freezing cold in the heat of her body, and she twists her hips up to meet them. The tension blooming under her breastbone is ratcheting tighter and tighter with each harsh jerk of Allison’s hand.

Allison’s other hand, caught just under Lydia’s head, tangles in her hair and _pulls_. Ignoring Lydia’s yelp of pain, Allison dips her head down to sinks her teeth into Lydia’ jaw.

Wait-stop-no it _hurts_. It hurts like knives in her head, and Lydia is sure that the skin has split, and she can feel the warm trail of something dripping down her neck and the pain rockets through her as she tries to scream, yell for help, anything to get it to stop, but her whole body is strung taut as a bowstring and Allison’s fingers feel different, thicker,  rougher, too much, plunging in, in, in, in, and her wide, callused, _untrimmed_ thumb is grinding down, down, down, and –

It hits her like a wave, rushing through her, sparking every nerve and pulling every muscle tight. Her eyes slam shut as she cries out. Shocks ricochet from her cunt to her eyelids and back down to her toes. She shakes and quivers and contracts around the cold, thick fingers inside her. Choking on it, she’s choking on the feeling, and it’s pulsing in her throat and in her stomach like a creature made of clay is clawing its way out.

Slowly, softly, hands withdraw, and Allison’s mouth pulls off her with a quiet, wet noise. There is a chuckle. “Open your eyes, pet.”

Cold is slowly sinking into her bones. She’s exposed, hyperaware of the grit clinging to her thighs and the rough fabric of the sheets under her back. Her jaw stings and her breasts ache and her cunt feels scraped and sore and she might be crying. She knows, now, it’s not Allison. It’s not Allison, it was never Allison, and she’s going to be sick but she is too empty, scraped-raw _empty_ and nothing would come up and she does not open her eyes.

“Please?” Peter whispers.


End file.
